Love Song
by TattKatt
Summary: MATURE content warning!  Lyra Mahariel had kept her distance from everyone around her. But lately memories had been plaguing her, memories she couldn't possibly have. Suddenly she found herself needing not only a companion, but a friend, and perhaps more.


**Authors Note**: _This content is rated MATURE. If you have issue with this, please stop reading now. This scene involves Lyra Mahariel, a character currently in development for the story "And for What?". It may one day find its way into that story with a few modifications but for now it is simply a scene I wrote as a Challenge on the Dragon Age Forums. Enjoy and please review._

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><p>He could see Lyra Mahariel through the trees and night time shadows. She was sitting on a fallen tree stump, one leg propped up, her back resting against a large boulder. Dark red hair spilled across her shoulders and down her back. Eyes closed, her upturned face caught the moonlight in such a way that made her look ethereal, like she was a figure made from glowing mists and at the slightest breath or misstep she would vanish into the night.<p>

_This is how I pictured the Dalish_, he thought. Zevran Arainai's mother had been a Dalish elf, and whenever he thought of the elusive wandering tribes he always pictured them by moonlight. Perhaps it was because he himself, lived so much in the night. Darkness and shadow were good friends and he kept them close, but the moon... he had always felt that the moon watched over him, providing him pools of blackest shadow in which to hide, and revealing his enemies to him as he waited, and watched.

As he did now. Though she was no longer an enemy, she was, indeed, still a target, though after a completely different fashion. He let his eyes travel the length of her. She had tucked her wild mane of red hair behind delicately tapered ears, revealing a heart shaped face, large almond eyes and full lips. Her soft pale skin and the _vallaslin_ tattoos that wove their patterns across her face and down her neck and back glowed white in the moonlight. He watched her, and vaguely wondered if he had ever seen anything so beautiful in his life.

Lyra was strong in ways that had nothing to do with muscles, always so quick and agile it was an odd thing to see her lithe body so relaxed, so still. She wasn't asleep. It was her watch and she was too vigilant to allow herself sleep when she was responsible for the safety of the entire camp. There was no movement to indicate she had noticed him yet either. He took some pride in this for no one in camp had made it this close to her without her knowing. But then, no one else in camp was an assassin either.

"Are you going to stand there and watch me all night?" Lyra said suddenly. Then slowly opened an eye, turning her head to look at him. He was sure he had made no noise, and was concealed in the shadow of a giant fir, she couldn't possibly have seen him. And yet, there she was, staring right at him a slight smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"Ah-ha," he said slowly as he stepped out of the shadows. "And here I was, thinking I had slipped past your defenses."

"You're not that lucky, Zevran," she said, leaning her head back against the rock wall.

There was something strange about the way she kept herself apart from the others. He imagined her aloofness to be part of her Dalish heritage and took no offense when she responded flatly to his tales of adventure and daring. Any conversations with her usually ended quickly and with very few words on her part. She never let anyone close, not him, and certainly not any of the humans in their little group. So he was genuinely surprised when she shifted her body slightly to make room for him on the log beside her.

She had said once that 'companion' was not the same thing as 'friend', and though the statement was not directed at him personally, he took the inference and did not press the matter. Even still, Alistair was prone to glaring at him disapprovingly whenever he ventured out of camp when he knew Lyra was on watch. _Let him think what he likes_, he told himself. _Shame be damned, I'll sneak around at night if I damn well please._ It wasn't as if he was doing anything untoward. The fact was he generally only left camp to bring her food or, like tonight, to replace her on watch. Though he also enjoyed testing her senses and his own skill by seeing how close he could get before she noticed. He had never once made it within striking distance.

Sitting here now, so close that he could feel the warmth of her skin, he found himself wondering why she kept such a rift between herself and others. Sometimes in camp he would see her with a far away look in her eye, as if reliving long buried memories, and her hand might stray to the small leather pouch tied to her belt, a sad smile playing at her lips. She had a similar look now.

"Tell me, Zevran," she said quietly. "Do you remember much of your mother?"

It was a strange place to start a conversation, he thought, but who was he to judge? As far as he knew she had never initiated a conversation with anyone in camp and he was not about to stop her now. He shrugged, "Oh not so much. She died giving birth to me. My first kill, as it were..." Lyra nodded sadly to herself and seemed inclined to say nothing more. "And you?" he prompted. "What of your parents?"

She said nothing for a long time, as if she had to find the words before she could put voice to her thoughts. "My parents were killed," she began, faltered, then continued. "My father, before I was born and my mother..." Here she paused a long while before continuing. "She survived long enough to give me life and then she was gone."

It was a story he knew very well. "You say 'gone.' She died as well?"

"No one knows," she said, staring out into the night. "It is said that she simply wandered off into the forest and was never seen again." Zevran stayed silent. There was something she wanted to say. Perhaps it was simply because he was the only other elf around, but it seemed like there was something she wanted to tell _him_. "I think I have... memories of her, though," she said at last. "It may sound strange, but I remember... singing. No words, none I understand anyway..." he voice trailed off as she drifted back into her memories. She began to sing. Her gentle voice rose hesitantly into the night as she sang a soft crooning refrain from a song that had no name.

Zevran stared at her, trying not to think of how her voiced tugged at something deep inside him. Something he had buried a long time ago. Such beauty, such sorrow. There was more to this woman than anyone knew. The distance she kept around herself, wasn't just physical distance, it was emotional separation as well. He no longer wondered why she kept herself separate, but rather why she was letting him in.

When her voice finally died away, he found himself speechless. Unthinking he reached up and brushed a single tear from her cheek. She didn't flinch or pull away, she simply sat there and looked at him with those round sorrowful eyes. What would she do if he kissed her? He wanted to, oh, how he wanted to, but something held him back, telling him to tread lightly. This strong roguish woman suddenly seemed very fragile. And she had let him in. He didn't know if he deserved that but he was damned if he was going to be the one to break her.

He cleared his throat, his voice seemed to be caught somewhere within. "It is a love song," he said, his voice hoarse with emotion, the thin veneer of fun-loving thrill-seeker dropping away entirely.

"You know it?" she said, startled from her own reverie.

"Alas, no, my dear. But I know of songs like it. Such songs... need no words..." He looked into her eyes. Windows to the soul, they said. Had he ever seen how blue they were? A moment stretched into two, then three.

_Shame be damned, indeed_. He buried his fingers in her hair and kissed her. It happened in an instant. It wasn't thought out or planned, a simple urge that could not be ignored. Yet something told him there was nothing simple about this woman. To his surprise, she returned his kiss hungrily. He could feel the passion rising within him and he dug his fingers deeper into the wild mass of hair, kissing her urgently, needing her. He let his free hand roam over her shoulder and down her back, pulling her closer to him. Then his fingers found the scars on her lower back. It was like a bolt of lightening directly to his brain. This was Lyra. He couldn't do this to her. What the hell was he thinking? The answer was that he wasn't.

With a supreme effort of will he pulled himself away from her and stumbled to his feet. "I am sorry," he said, breathing heavily. "I cannot... I did not mean to..." He was floundering. How could he tell her that he did not want to hurt her, that she was not simply one of his many conquests? He wanted her, Maker, how he wanted her, but it was more complicated than that. The problem was... The problem was that he had never seen her smile. Like there was something within her that kept her from finding even the smallest joy. And he was afraid of it. Afraid to find out what it was, afraid that the discovery may break his heart, and hers. He couldn't do that to her.

As if sensing his inner struggle, she rose to her feet, head tilted slightly as if trying to understand, and stepped towards him, almost feline in her movements. "You are a beautiful creature," he breathed. Standing there in the moonlight she looked up at him, her expression becoming unreadable but for her eyes. They spoke of a hunger that went beyond words. He could drown in those eyes. They were inches apart, he could feel her warm breath on his skin and it sent chills down his spine. Did she not know what she was doing to him?

Able to resist no longer he kissed her again, gently at first, then with more urgency as the need within him rose. He shrugged out of his breastplate and let it drop to the ground, hers soon followed, then the rest of their armor. His gaze traveled over her naked flesh awash with moonlight, and all thought and reason left him. He wrapped his strong arms around her small frame and pulled her close, burying his face in her neck, teasing the delicate skin with his lips and tongue. "Perhaps I am that lucky after all," he murmured in her ear as she sighed audibly. "It seems I have indeed slipped past your defenses."

He laid her down on the bed of soft grass, now wet with dew, the sudden coolness a delicious disparity to the heat rising within him. A moan escaped his lips as searching fingers found their way beneath his tunic, pulling it over his head and her fingernails scraped down the rippling muscles of his back. He made love to her then, forcing himself to be gentle with her, though the need within him was demanding more, a lot more. Her cries of ecstasy excited him still further, driving him on, and on.

When at last they had both been sated, he fell back on the now flattened grass, breathing deeply, and staring up at the moon. Lyra lay beside him her eyes half closed. He thought he could hear her singing wordlessly. He turned his head to watch her. She was smiling.


End file.
